[Exit.
Lodo. This was Brachiano's pander; and 'tis strange
That in such open, and apparent guilt
Of his adulterous sister, he dare utter
So scandalous a passion. I must wind him.
Re-enter Flamineo.
Flam. How dares this banish'd count return to Rome,
His pardon not yet purchas'd! I have heard
The deceased duchess gave him pension,
And that he came along from Padua
I' th' train of the young prince. There 's somewhat in 't:
Physicians, that cure poisons, still do work
With counter-poisons.
Marc. Mark this strange encounter.
Flam. The god of melancholy turn thy gall to poison,
And let the stigmatic wrinkles in thy face,
Like to the boisterous waves in a rough tide,
One still overtake another.
Lodo. I do thank thee,
And I do wish ingeniously for thy sake,
The dog-days all year long.
Flam. How croaks the raven?
Is our good duchess dead?
Lodo. Dead.
Flam. O fate!
Misfortune comes like the coroner's business
Huddle upon huddle.
Lodo. Shalt thou and I join housekeeping?
Flam.
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